


Attachment

by ShannonPhillips



Series: AUs and Out-takes [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing that could ever tear Kanan and Hera apart is the mission. But when that happens, Ezra, Sabine, and Zeb launch a mission of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attachment

_There are three conditions which often look alike_  
_Yet differ completely, flourish in the same hedgerow:_  
_Attachment to self and to things and to persons, detachment_  
_From self and from things and from persons; and, growing between them, indifference_  
_Which resembles the others as death resembles life,_  
_Being between two lives—unflowering, between_  
_The live and the dead nettle. This is the use of memory:_  
_For liberation—not less of love but expanding_  
_Of love beyond desire, and so liberation_  
_From the future as well as the past._  


                T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

 

The Alliance hangar is cavernous and filled with a motley collection of ships, large and small. Humans and aliens in small groups come and go, walking with purpose. The hum of ship’s engines and droid chatter fills the air.

Hera and Chopper stand alone, waiting. They are the only still point in the fluctuating scene.

Then: from around the bulk of a larger vessel, Kanan, Zeb, Ezra and Sabine come into view. Kanan is half-smiling, listening to the chatter of the others. Ezra is jubilant, bouncing around the group as they walk: “Did you see that _shot_? Sabine, did you see it?” In his eagerness he almost collides with Zeb, who sends him staggering with a well-aimed furry elbow.

Sabine is tolerant: “I saw it. You’re just lucky I also saw the buckethead who had _you_ in his sights.”

Kanan’s noticed Hera. There’s a warmth in his eyes as he shifts course slightly to meet her.

She steps forward too, but her voice is very serious. “Kanan. We need to talk.”

The others fall quiet as Kanan’s smile dies. “What is it?”

“Ahsoka spoke to me while you were gone. She had a lot of questions…about us.”

“Us,” says Kanan. There’s no warmth at all in his eyes now.

Hera’s mobile, expressive face is filled with pain. “She says Jedi aren’t allowed to _—_ to have personal _—_ ”

“Attachments,” Kanan finishes flatly. He turns away, leaning one arm against the bulk of the nearest ship.

Hera’s voice is soft and sad. “She says you can’t train Ezra to be a Jedi if you aren’t living as one.”

Kanan doesn’t move. Ezra looks from him to Hera. “I don’t understand,” he says plaintively.

“There is no passion. There is serenity.” Kanan’s voice is nearly expressionless. He’s still leaning against the ship, staring at the floor.

“Wait, wait. So you guys are…” Ezra raises a hand, palm up.

“Passionate,” supplies Sabine.

Zeb’s head jerks over; he stares at her. “You knew?”

She arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

Beside Hera, Chopper grumbles and shifts from side to side. Nobody pays attention.

Ezra is still struggling. He lifts his other palm, staring into it as if there might be some answers there. “And Jedi aren’t allowed to…”

“Get passionate,” says Sabine. Ezra looks up at her, stricken.

“You and Kanan and Ahsoka might be the last Jedi left in the galaxy,” Hera says. “We need the Jedi, now more than ever, and you’re the only ones who can bring them back.” Her huge green eyes linger on Ezra with sadness, then move back to Kanan. “You have a destiny, love,” she says. “And I’m standing in your way.”

“No,” Kanan says to the floor. Then he pushes himself back from the ship, turning back to face Hera. His brows lower and mouth sets in determination. “No,” he says more strongly, his hand slicing down in a negatory gesture.

“Chopper and I will take the Ghost,” Hera says in the same soft, steady tone. “Ahsoka will find you and Ezra a new ship. Zeb and Sabine, you have a choice.”

“Hera _—_ ” Kanan begins, taking two quick steps towards her. But she throws up a hand, almost flinching away, and so instead he sinks fluidly to one knee. ” _Please_. Don’t do this.”

She drops her hand, raising her eyes slowly, almost unwillingly, to meet his. Ezra, Sabine, and Zeb look aghast from the sidelines. Chopper gives a short, aggravated chirp.

“When you met me,” Kanan says, every word direct and intense: “was I everything a Jedi should be? Disciplined? Focused? Was I living the Code?”

“Kanan _—_ ”

“No. I was lost. Everything I know about purpose and direction, everything I may be able to teach Ezra, you awakened in me. You aren’t in my way, Hera. You _are_ my way.”

He rises as she comes closer. She reaches out, lays a hand on his cheek. He leans in to kiss her. She tilts her chin to meet him.

Ezra and Zeb are near mirrors of each other, each grinning fondly, foolishly. But between them Sabine frowns in anxiety.

When at last Hera draws back, there are tears running down her cheeks. “Goodbye, love,” she says. And then she walks away.

***

It’s cold. Always too cold on the new ship. It doesn’t matter how many blankets he has; Ezra can’t sleep. He just lies there and shivers.

Finally he rolls out of his bunk and goes looking for Kanan. It shouldn’t be difficult. The new ship is smaller than the Ghost, but somehow seems to hold many, many more shadowy nooks.

It’s smaller. Darker. Quieter. And so much colder.

Ezra wraps a blanket around his shoulder and walks with determination through the corridors, forcing himself not to jump at shadows. He wishes Sabine had come with them. Karabast, he wishes Zeb had come.

Strange that a person could actually miss a smell that bad.

The very last place Ezra wants to look is in Kanan’s cabin. Fortunately he finds his master in the cockpit instead, staring out into the blue tunnel of hyperspace. No telling how long he’s been sitting there. Maybe he’s meditating?

Ezra clears his throat. “Uh, Kanan? I think the environmental controls are on the fritz again.”

“Yeah,” says Kanan, not turning. “We’ll get it checked out once we’re back to civilization.”

Ezra slides into the co-pilot’s seat, drawing his knees up to his chest and pulling the blanket tight. “So, what are you _—_ I mean, what are we _—_ um. Doing next?”

Kanan rolls one shoulder. “Ship’s not really ours,” he says. “So we need to run these little missions for _Fulcrum_ ” _—_ he says the word as if it’s an obscenity _—_ “until we’ve scraped together enough dosh to buy it or another heap of junk. And then, kid, the galaxy is ours.”

The words are cheerful. His tone isn’t. Ezra bites his lip and stares at the star-streaked sky.

“You know,” he says finally, “you might have warned me that being a Jedi means being forever alone.”

“It doesn’t,” Kanan says roughly. “You’re connected through the Force to every living being. You’re never alone.”

“But—you know what I mean. No girlfriends? Or boyfriends? Ever?”

Another roll of the shoulder. “I never really bought into that part.” After a long moment Kanan adds, grudgingly: “It was a whole thing with them though, yeah.”

“No personal attachments,” Ezra says softly. “How does that even _work_? What about, like, family?”

“They took the younglings away from their families as early as possible. I don’t remember mine.”

“But—but—” Ezra stammers. “But that’s horrible!”

Kanan’s staring into space, or maybe into the past. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. It’s how things were. Doesn’t mean it’s how they need to always be.”

“But if it’s in the Code—“

“There’s the Code, and then there’s all the stuff that was tacked onto the Code later. _There is no passion_ —I mean, we’re not droids. Of course we still feel, of course we still…love. But no matter what’s going on in your heart and mind, you have to be able to find that deeper serenity. Because the Force is vast, the Force is everything, and you have to surrender your own ego to let it guide you.”

Ezra nods. Then, in a very small voice, he says: “Can’t you explain that to Hera?”

Kanan rises without a word and stalks out. Ezra rests his cheek on his knee, the blanket scratching against his skin.

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong. He almost wishes Kanan would _—_ rage, or cry, or get drunk and start fights in cantinas. That kind of thing Ezra could figure out. Could help with.

This, though? Acting like he doesn’t notice anything different…or doesn’t care? Kanan never even mentions the Ghost or its crew. He’s carried on with Ezra’s training as if nothing has changed.

As if he had never begged Hera not to leave, begged her on his _knees_. Even the memory is starting to seem faded and unlikely. Sometimes Ezra half-believes the Ghost was just a dream.

Maybe he’s always been here, on a strange shadowy ship where his footfalls clang and echo in empty corridors. Maybe it’s always been this quiet. Maybe it’s always been this cold.

Sometimes he almost stops feeling it.

***

“Too hot! We’re coming in too hot!”

“Have a little faith, Sabine,” Hera croons, punching buttons.

“I have plenty of faith but I also understand the laws of physiiiiiiiaaaaaooooh!”

“See? Smooth as silk.”

There’s no retort from the peanut gallery. Zeb and Sabine are both quite occupied clutching the walls and breathing heavily. Hera nonchalantly rises from the captain’s chair, adjusting her gloves. “Chopper, you’ve got the helm ‘til we get back. Stay close _—_ we might be in a hurry.”

The droid issues a disapproving string of whistles. “That’s not true,” Hera says sharply. “I’ve often gone out into the field.”

More grumbles, this time accompanied by a jab from one of Chopper’s grasping arms. Hera sighs. “It’s fine, you’ll be fine, you’ve got this. It’s no different from all those runs in the Abrion sector.”

“Actually,” says Sabine weakly, “Do you think you and Zeb can manage the handoff? I, uh, I think I need to barf.”

Hera rolls her eyes. “Fine. You stay with Chopper. Zeb? With me?”

“Always!” Zeb says brightly. But the instant Hera pushes past him out of the cockpit, his false smile fades. “Aoooough,” he groans, and jabs a finger at Sabine. “We need to solve this soon. I can’t take much more of Hera’s… _misery flying_.”

“You buy me twenty minutes and I’ll start working on it,” Sabine hisses.

As soon as the ship’s outer hatch closes behind Zeb and Hera, Sabine pulls out a datapad. Scrolls to the section she wants, muttering: "Plans comma art...Plans comma mayhem...Plans comma personal _—_ nope, too far. Plans comma other, there we go. Plans comma other comma Spectre One and Two."

It's a list. Most of the list elements have been marked with a red strikethrough. For instance, at the top, "Make S1 think S2 is in danger" and "Make S2 think S1 is in danger" are both lined out with the annotation _Doesn't Solve Problem. Sure they'd come running, but then we're just back at square one._

The next several list elements are lined out and followed by a terse _DSP_ :

"Strand them both on desert island. No, snowy island. Cold=cuddles"

"Truth serum?"

"Make S1 think S2's with somebody else/vice versa"

"Set them up on a romantic mooncruise" gets a _DSP_ along with the additional annotation: _this should really go under Plans, Mayhem_.

At the very bottom of the list, two entries stand unmarked. The first: "Fake a Jedi relic/prophecy/tablet thing that says it's okay for S1 to be in love."

The second: "Find a _real_ one of those."

“Right,” Sabine breathes. “Plans eta and theta it is.” With a few quick swipes of her finger, she packages the list up in a wrapper file and appends a pre-drafted message. “Okay, Chopper, let’s work on inserting this into subspace traffic. It’s time to bring Ezra in on the conspiracy.”

Chopper’s answer is rude, but he holds out a grasping arm for the datapad.

***

_Dear E._

_How’s life treating you since Mom and Dad split? Does it suck bantha dung for you because over here we are hip deep in Tatooine’s finest fertilizer export. Z. and I spitballed some ideas (see list, attached) but I think the only remotely workable one is the Jedi woo-woo angle._

_Now I know the odds of finding a thousand-year-old tablet that says “by the way it’s totally okay if someday the last Jedi in the galaxy hooks up with a hotshot Twi’lek pilot, I know we said ‘no passions’ but honestly we were talking to those other people and not to you” is pretty slim, but on the other hand I truly believe that me and the big guy can rig up a convincing forgery if we only had something authentic to base it on. Keep in mind that it doesn’t have to fool K. as he’s already fully down with Operation Jedi Smooches, it really only has to fool the captain and it’s not like she’s an expert on this kind of thing._

_Now maybe you feel bad about trying to trick H. and, seriously, we do too, but think of it this way: we break all kinds of Imperial laws all the time because we want a galaxy where the people have justice and the laws are fair. Same thing here. We’re lying to her because it’s the only way to get her to see the truth. We need you guys back, **she** needs you guys back, and I can only imagine what kind of shipping-lane pile-up you’re dealing with over there but I would bet my last can of magenta paint that being alone is doing nothing good for Spectre One._

_So, bottom line, we need you to find a relic. Anything could work, even like an old Jedi shopping list or something. “Temple needs three bags of grain, a barrel of fermented milk, and ten bales of rough-spun cloth in all our favorite shades of brown.” We could absolutely work with that. I would just add AND THE LOVE OF A GOOD WOMAN to the end of the list and bam. No more attachment problems._

_Gotta run. Send me something good._

_\--S._

***

It’s been meditation, lightsaber training, more meditation, a brief period of running through an Imperial warehouse being shot at, and then some extra meditation when Sabine’s message suddenly drops onto Ezra’s screen. He stares at it for a full fifteen minutes as a slow warmth creeps over his skin. He looks at the list, and laughs out loud.

The sound echoes strangely, as if this ship has never heard laughter before and doesn’t much like it. But Ezra feels like he can breathe again for the first time in a week.

It’s a lousy plan. But it’s a lousy _Sabine_ plan.

The only thing he doesn’t like is that he’s going to have to go into Kanan’s cabin to sneak some time with the holocron. Kanan’s quarters are the darkest and chilliest place on the whole ship. Ezra’s honestly not sure if he chose that cabin because he was wallowing in self-pity, or if the cabin is like that because it’s absorbing Kanan’s bitterness and unhappiness. Neither option is particularly reassuring.

But it’s not like he can look up “ancient Jedi relic locations” on the HoloNet.

The next meal period—like the one before—consists of ration bars, chewed sullenly, in silence. Kanan’s absorbed in studying a set of blueprints to something that looks like a guard outpost. He only grunts when Ezra scrunches his nose and drops his rations on the table.

“I’m, uh, yeah. Not hungry,” Ezra says.

Kanan doesn’t answer: he’s rotating the schematics, peering closely at the layout of the ventilation shafts.

“All right then,” says Ezra. “I guess I’ll—turn in. Maybe meditate for a while. Probably haven’t been doing enough of that lately.”

Kanan grunts again.

So Ezra climbs up the ladder from the mess deck, sidles around the starboard corridor, and takes a deep breath before keying open Kanan’s door. A blast of chilly air hits him as it opens.

Kanan’s always kept his personal quarters spare and utilitarian, but somehow the same arrangement of personal effects that seemed clean and uncluttered on the Ghost looks almost brutally lonely in the new setting. It’s as if Kanan’s barely there at all. As if he might already be gone.

Ezra’s skin prickles uncomfortably, and he squashes that thought. Too many people have abandoned him already. If Kanan disappeared on him too…

 _Sabine’s not gone_ , he tells himself. _She wrote you. She says they need you back._ And the thought gives him the focus he needs to push the darkness away. He sets his jaw and starts opening drawers.

The holocron’s in the second one he tries. It rises eagerly to his palm. Ezra’s reminded somehow of a playful young Loth-cat batting at a stalk of grass, and he smiles as he draws it out. “All right, good little…block. Let’s play.”

He settles, cross-legged, and lets the holocron rise into the air as he centers himself and quiets his mind. It spins lazily, its lights casting a lattice of reflections on the walls. And then it unfolds, shifting and blooming in strange symmetries.

Ezra can feel it, waiting patiently for his directives. There’s something friendly about it, but also an immense sense of… _presence_ , of knowledge and awareness held in reserve. It’s as if that fuzzy little Loth-cat he’d pictured earlier had a shadow behind it, and that shadow held every living being that had ever walked the surface of his world.

“Soooo,” breathes Ezra. He keeps his eyes closed and holds perfectly still, trying to keep his mind open even as he speaks. “I don’t actually know how to use you at all. But I’m, ah, looking for some kind of relic. Anything will do. So long as it’s old.”

The holocron spins. Ezra imagines the Loth-cat tilting its head quizzically.

“No,” he admits after a moment. “You’re right. That’s not what I really need. I need—“

_I need a ship that echoes with jokes and insults and arguments and laughter, instead of shadows and silence. I need to share a bunk with a smelly furry snoring bad-tempered Lasat, instead of cold air and nothing. I need a master who notices when I’m lonely and sad, and a captain who can always make it better._

“I need my family back,” Ezra says quietly, and the holocron pauses, then unfolds itself into a new pattern. Ezra opens his eyes.

The lights on the cabin wall are stars, now. Ezra recognizes a few of the systems. Then the pattern changes, rushing, zooming: _there_. A dark little moon in the Teraab sector? The image of the moon grows larger and larger, until Ezra can pick out a few landmarks: a mountain ridge. A vast dry lake bed. And there—some kind of ruins. The image pauses, lingering on the crumbling masonry…and then the holocron falls dark.

“Thanks,” Ezra breathes, and reaches out a hand to catch the holocron as it falls. He tucks it back in its drawer and slips out of Kanan’s cabin with a sigh of relief. He rubs his forearms as he walks to shake off the chill.

“And now for a quick jaunt to the Teraab sector,” Ezra whispers to himself. “Kanan will never even notice I’m gone.”

***

_Dear S._

_Bantha dung, definitely._

_Look I’m not as good as you at hijacking message channels so I’m just going to ask someone to give you this next time you guys check in with the main fleet. I think I can find something that will help but it’s totally out in the middle of nowhere _—_ one of the moons of Ruusan, in the Teraab sector. K. is planning some kind of infiltration job that he’s not telling me about, so I figure when he goes off to do that, I’ll see about finding someone who can take me to Ruusan. _

_Wish me luck. Miss you all._

__—_ E._

***

Chopper announces the incoming transmission shrilly. Sabine and Zeb freeze, staring at each other in wordless yet mutual recrimination: _Did you? Not me!_  
  
But Hera just says: “Well, put him through.” Her voice is almost natural.

Chopper grinds something, and a holographic projection of Kanan flickers into life in the middle of their cargo bay. “Is Ezra with you?” he says without preamble.

“What? No!” Shock and concern are stamped plainly on Hera’s face. “You’ve lost Ezra?”

“I didn’t _lose_ him,” Kanan snaps. “He’s gone somewhere. Left a note on his bunk that said ‘If you’re looking for me, don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.’ I can’t sense him at all.”

Sabine sinks onto a crate, a hand rising to her mouth. She’s behind Hera, but it doesn’t matter: nothing on the Ghost escapes Hera’s attention. The captain turns slowly, and asks very calmly: “Sabine?”

“Ruusan,” Sabine blurts out. “The moons of Ruusan.”

“Why for all the stars would—“ Kanan begins, just as Hera says:

“Who in the galaxy did he—“

They both fall silent. Hera speaks up again first. “The Teraab run is _really_ hard to fly. There’s a stellar nursery there and the expanding nebulae keep wiping out the hyperspace routes. Who did he find to take him there?”

“And why would he go at all?” Kanan jumps in.

Sabine rubs the back of her neck and wishes she were wearing her helmet. “I, uh, I don’t really—um, Zeb?”

Zeb shrugs and smiles weakly. “Kids that age, you know, they get ideas.”

The holographic projection distorts as Chopper spits a few pithy notes. “Hey, hey!” Hera says, and the hologram snaps back into focus. “Kanan, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll get the full story out of them on our way to Ruusan.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Kanan says.

“Remember what I said about the hyperspace routes,” Hera says. And then, with a hitch in her voice: “Please be careful.”

“I will.”

The transmission cuts out. Hera stands for a moment, watching the empty space where Kanan’s image had been. Then she turns.

“Zeb, Sabine,” she says sweetly. “It’s a long trip to Ruusan. Come and talk to me.”

***

They manage not to tell her about the list. Or about plan eta. But Sabine does describe plan theta—find a real Jedi artifact that endorses romantic love—in pretty complete detail. Which is easy, because plan theta never had much in the way of details.

“On a scale of one to supernova,” Sabine says once she’s done, “how mad are you?”

Hera shakes her head. “Not mad.”

Sabine and Zeb look at each other in alarm. It’s _worse_ than supernova mad?

“I’m sorry,” Hera sighs. “I miss them too. I know this has been hard on everyone, and I didn’t give you any input before I made the call.”

“That was _—_ not great, yeah,” Sabine says cautiously.

“Don’t you understand, though?” Hera’s big green eyes are imploring. “We risk our lives every day. I’ve been prepared to sacrifice my personal happiness ever since I dedicated myself to this fight. And Ezra’s Jedi training—could be vital to the rebellion.”

“Yeah,” growls Zeb, “but Kanan wanted to train him _here_. And he’s the only actual Jedi in this crew. Shouldn’t he get to decide?”

“Kanan’s _—_ not impartial,” Hera says. “Not about this. And neither am I, but I know that I can’t put my own feelings ahead of the mission.”

“Yes, you can,” Sabine insists. “Because the mission suffers when _you_ suffer. We were a lot more effective when we had Kanan and Ezra on the team.”

Hera chews her bottom lip.

Sensing an opening, Sabine changes tactics. “Speaking of, did Kanan look sick to you? Hard to tell on a hologram, but it looked to me like he’d lost weight.”

Zeb picks up the thread immediately. “Dark circles under the eyes. Yeah, I saw that too.”

“Stop it,” Hera says.

Silence falls in the cockpit. Hera checks a read-out, adjusts something in the Ghost’s sensor array. Then she says: “He sounded a little hoarse.”

“Respiratory infection, maybe,” Sabine suggests.

“Probably not eating well,” Zeb adds.

“Stop.”

***

They drop out of hyperspace just above Ruusan and its three moons. If there was any problem with the routes, Hera made it seem invisible.

Chopper immediately re-establishes a com link. “I’m here,” Kanan says, “and I can sense Ezra. He’s on the second moon, the rocky one.”

Sabine lets out a long breath. But Hera leans forward. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m also sensing something else. Force energy…strong in the Dark Side.”

“Where’s Ezra, exactly? I’ll bring us in for a landing.”

At first approach, they start to see what looks like thin, sickly writing over the moon’s surface. As they come closer to making a landing, the ‘writing’ resolves itself into walls, buildings, roads—spidery ruins sprawling across the moonscape.

“I don’t like this,” Sabine says, shifting uncomfortably.

“No,” Zeb agrees. “There’s something _wrong_ here. Makes my fur itch.”

“I feel it too,” Hera says, “and if we feel it, imagine how bad it must be for Kanan and Ezra. Come on.”

They spill out of the Ghost, even Chopper trailing behind them down the gangway. They’ve landed near one of the more intact structures within the ruins: a ziggurat, its tiered bulk looming black against the starfield. It’s missing a large chunk of stone near the crown, but at the base an arched entryway is still flanked by intricate carvings.

Kanan stands silhouetted under the arch. He throws up a hand as they come near. “I’m not sure any of you should be here,” he says.

“We’ll follow your lead,” Hera says, and he nods slowly.

“All right. Ezra’s in there somewhere. His energy feels…strange. I don’t think he’s hurt, but his mind’s not clear.”

“Then let’s find him quick,” Zeb growls.

“Agreed, but we need to be careful. Sabine, I want you and Chopper to stay here—both to guard our rear, and to start scoping out weaknesses in the structure. We may want to bring the whole thing down behind us.”

“Aye-aye, Spectre One.”

At that Kanan’s eyes flick to Hera, then away. “Right. Zeb and Hera, stick close but stay behind me.”

Hera draws her blaster. Zeb cracks his knuckles.

Kanan steps into the dark ziggurat, drawing his lightsaber as he passes under the arch. The blue glow reveals a hallway, angled down.

They start cautiously down the passageway, and have passed far enough that the door behind them can no longer be seen, when: “Master Dume? Is that you?” It’s Ezra’s voice, and it’s coming from just beyond the lightsaber’s circle of illumination.

But Kanan shakes his head grimly. “That’s not him.”

“Uh,” says Zeb. “What…is it…then?”

“A trick. An echo. Something to play on our fears.”

“Master Dume? I’m lost, I think I’m lost, what should I do?”

Kanan walks steadily forward, lightsaber held at the ready. Hera’s right behind him. Behind her Zeb walks with a hunch, ducking his head to fit in the low corridor.

“I’m lost and I’m so afraid. Should I do what you did? Should I run?”

Kanan says nothing, only continues to take careful steps into the dark. “Is this hallway getting smaller?” Zeb grumbles.

The voice changes.

“Hera? Hera, why did you send me here? I thought I could trust you, I thought we were family! Why did you abandon me?”

Hera makes a stifled noise of pain, and Kanan glances back over his shoulder. “It’s not him,” he says gently.

She nods—then cries out in alarm as the stones beneath her feet start to crumble. She scrambles back as the floor of the passage gives way, barely making it a step ahead of the yawning pit opening at her feet. But behind her Zeb’s struggling to get out of the way, and a crashing noise from far below tells her that the stones are hitting a very deep bottom, and—

“Hera, _stop_ ,” Kanan says, from the other side of the pit.

She freezes instantly, only closing her eyes as the ground falls from under her. But she doesn’t fall. And when she opens her eyes—

There was a pit. But it wasn’t where it had seemed to be. It wasn’t in front of her, it was _behind_ her: she’d been pushing Zeb right into it.

“Karabast,” Zeb says, crammed up against the wall.

“Karabast,” Hera agrees.

“Zeb?” calls Ezra’s voice, though now It has an unpleasant edge to it. “Zeb, why are you here? You couldn’t save anyone when you were in the Honor Guard, what makes you think you can save anyone now?”

“Wow,” growls Zeb. “The fake kid is even more annoying than the real one.”

“We’re very close,” Kanan says, and they start walking again.

After only a few paces, they’re abruptly confronted with an earthen wall: the corridor simply ends. And huddled against the wall, knees drawn tight against his chest, is Ezra Bridger. He’s shivering and staring, unfocused, straight past them.

“Is it him?” Hera asks.

But Kanan is already striding forward. He sinks down, his hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “Ezra? Can you hear me?”

For a long moment Ezra doesn’t respond. Then: “I didn’t find it, Kanan,” he says weakly.

“Didn’t find what? What were you looking for?”

“The relic. The relic that says Jedi _—_ don’t have to be alone. The holocron told me it would be here. But there’s nothing about love here.”

Hera joins them, crouching down to smooth Ezra’s hair away from his forehead. “Yes, there is,” she says. “But you brought it with you.”

Kanan looks up, and Hera meets his gaze steadily. Something wordless passes between them.

“Zeb,” Kanan says. “Can you carry Ezra?”

“Course I can.”

They make it out the same way they came in: Kanan guiding the way with his lightsaber drawn, Hera following, and Zeb with Ezra in the rear. One by one they jump the pit, and continue up the slope. There are whispers in the darkness behind them, but nothing speaks.

When they emerge into the starry night, Ezra seems to come back to himself. He blinks, shakes his head, looks around. “Zeb? Why are you carrying me?”

“Because you don’t have the sense to walk.”

“Well, put me down, and I’ll try to.”

Kanan’s conversing quietly with Sabine. “Yeah,” he says, “blow it.”

“Yee hah,” she says cheerfully. “You all might want to take a step back.”

Little red lights flicker all over the ziggurat. An urgent beeping follows, then: fire. The stones groan, rumble, and sink. When the dust clears, all that’s left is a hill of rubble.

Ezra’s scanning the horizon. “Did those slimy gun-runners just _leave_ me here? I paid for a round trip!”

“Next time pick your pilots more carefully,” Hera says archly. Then she narrows her eyes, watching Ezra scuff a toe in the dirt. “Ezra? You know you’re always welcome aboard the Ghost, don’t you?”

He looks up, gives a tentative smile, and she sighs. “Speaking of, Chopper and I should go see what those nebulae are doing to our route home.”

But Kanan catches her hand as she turns to go. “Hera,” he says.

She looks back at him, not pulling away.

“In there. When I told you to stop, you did. Even though you thought the ground was falling out from under you. ” Kanan leans forward, intent. “You trust me with your life.”

“I always will,” she says quietly.

“And you trust me with Ezra’s life.”

“Yes. I do.”

He takes a deep breath. “Then trust me with _my own_ life. I had to find my own path, and I have. No one else can seek it for me.”

Her eyes scan his, and slowly her face lights with something like hope. “I—you’re—you’re right,” she says wonderingly.

His mouth quirks. “Well, you don’t have to say it like it’s such a _surprise_.”

She gives a quick little breath of laughter, and when he reaches for her other hand, she lets him take it.

They stand, facing each other, both hands joined, as Kanan grows serious again. “I don’t know if the Jedi Order will ever return, but if it does, it won’t be the same. We’ll need to leave old burdens behind, and find new ways for a new age. That’s part of the work that Ezra and I are doing together.”

Hera gives a minute nod. “Yes,” she says. “I understand.”

“Then…” Kanan pauses. The distance between them is steadily dwindling; both are leaning forward, and Kanan drops his head lower even as Hera rises slightly on her toes. “Can we come home?”

Ezra, Sabine, and Zeb stand frozen, eyes wide, breath held.

Hera blinks rapidly, a fragile smile blooming on her face. “Yes,” she says. “I trust you both. And I _need_ you both. Please…come home.”

“Yes!” cries Ezra, holding his hand up for a high-five from Zeb. It’s delivered with such force that he nearly loses his footing, but Sabine counterbalances him with a jubilant punch to the shoulder. He reels, grinning, as Zeb sweeps up Sabine and swings her around. Her feet swoosh over the tip of Chopper’s antenna, and the droid gives an indignant squawk.

Kanan and Hera look from the kids’ antics back to each other. Then the last few inches between them disappear; she’s resting in his arms, her head tucked against his shoulder. Kanan closes his eyes and breathes a long sigh. His face is utterly serene.

Chopper grumbles, spins, and grumbles some more. After sharing his full and frank estimation of the organics’ logical reasoning abilities and problem-solving behavioral patterns, he turns and trundles back toward the Ghost. If there’s one satisfactory outcome to the entire pathetic debacle, it’s that his ship will have its full complement of crew again.

He’d never tell them, but he’s become somewhat attached.

**Author's Note:**

> I consider this an AU, in the sense that it's not canon and it's not even part of my own headcanon. It was my first Star Wars: Rebels story and while it was a lot of fun to write, the characterization just isn't quite solid.


End file.
